The sound of loneliness
by Sariah Six
Summary: Dean and Sam investigate a band whose live performances are having supernatural effects on their audience. As the brothers investigate this mystery, Sam soon falls under the spell of the music, while Dean must overcome long forgotten demons
1. Black coffee

"This is it! This is it!"

"What's it jack?"

"Our big break!"

The grin on Jack's face appeared too much to muster, as he bounced excitedly from side to side around Whitney.

"This is totally it. This place will be the stepping stone for us. It'll be what the Cavern was to the Beatles. Long hours, god awful pay, playing for unappreciative audience who just wanna get wasted. I'm telling you, we play a couple of gigs here and our music is out there!"

It was hard not to be infected by Jack's enthusiasm, Whitney returned the smile and playfully punched him in the arm. "Our music will be nowhere if you don't help me set up the monitors" she teased.

It was getting late, the band would have to start soon. Whitney brushed her long brown hair out of her eyes. She quickly darted her blue eyes to the bar, only to avert them a second later. Yep, she was right. He was. She was sure that the bartender was watching her, she could feel his eyes on her. He made her uncomfortable, the whole place did.

It was a lowly bar hotel in LA called The Valentine, one that housed a lousy PA system and acoustics, but it was one that brought in a fair share of people on a Saturday night and that's what she wanted. Exposure. Fame.

The whole band wanted it too. Whitney had started an original band back last year, Fool's Irony, back with Jack and his brother Tom, who wrote most of the band's material. After what seemed like rehearsing for months straight with no luck, the Valentine's owner, the old and quiet bartender had accepted their demo they had sent around and contacted them for a regular Saturday night gig. It had seemed to good to be true at the time, but Whitney felt oddly stilted and nervous as she had stepped into the bar, and it certainly didn't help that the bartender would stare at her unblinking, as though mesmerised, from behind the counter.

"Let's get this show on the road" she muttered to herself as she plugged her lead into her guitar.

-------

"This is our last song for the evening, I hope you like it" Whitney said into the mic a an hour later. "We all up here feel it's our best, its called "broken frame". Thanks for listening, we're Fool's irony"

She took a moment to check her guitar was in tune, and moved her pink glossy lips to the microphone. She nodded at Tom, who counted her in on his drumsticks.

Then nothing.

Tom looked at Whitney confused.

Whitney had missed her cue. She was looking blankly at the audience like under some kind of trance.

The attending audience, seemingly completely unaware of the bands existence up to this point, suddenly all locked on to Whitney, sensing something wrong.

Whitney, frowned slightly, took a breath and tried to start again.. but nothing. Nothing came out.

A member in the audience yelled out something indistinguishable which set a ripple of laughter through the bar.

Jack adjusted his bass uncomfortably, looking concerned.

Suddenly she whipped her eyes open wide, her hands clenched the microphone stand tightly, and her lips began to move.

"I'm feeling mighty lonesome…. I haven't slept a wink" she sang in a soft sultry jazz voice, something that seemed to emerge its way from deep within her tiny frame.

Everyone in the bar suddenly stopped what they were doing. All eyes were on Whitney. The waitresses stopped what they were doing mid-step. The freshman in the corner stopped their jeering and were open mouthed, the intoxicated sleaze-bags on the bar stools suddenly perked up.

"Black coffee…. Feeling low.. as the ground" she sang slowly, with expertise vibrato echoing through the air.

The whole bar was fixated on her. For the full 5-minute song, they were engrossed, they were hypnotised by the lone singer, singing a song of pain and regret. It was almost too much for them. As it ended, Whitney somehow managed to stumble off the stage, dazed and confused. Some of the sleazebags burst into tears, a waitress held her head in her hands and sobbed uncontrollably. The audience sat there and did not move for hours, drowning their sorrows in alcohol and cigarettes. They eventually shuffled out the door, shaking and with distant eyes.

3 of them killed themselves that night.


	2. A rude awakening

"Dean….. Dean… DEAN!"

Dean Winchester's eyes suddenly sprung to life as if he'd been stung. "what? Wha…. Sam. Don't wake me unless it's an emergency" he muttered turning over grabbing for his blanket. It was warm and comforting.. a little too warm.

"You left the electric blanket on all night its on fire!"

Sam had never seen his brother jump out of bed so fast in his life. He bolted, stepping on the small flames that had been inches from licking his feet. Sam watched horrified as his brother gave up, ran to the bathroom and threw the remains of the hotel's blanket in the toilet. He emerged a little frazzled, his heart beating fast and a little disoriented from the sudden return to consciousness. He collapsed into a chair with a grin.

They stared at each other for a full minute before Sam gave up, exasperated and threw his hands up in the air.

"That's the second time that's happened Dean"

Silence.

"Whatever" Sam said. "But I'm not paying for it again"

Dean played idly with the ends of his sweat pants, which were slightly blackened. "That's ok, this is LA, I can make money off the streets here.." he said grinning.

"Look I think we should really check out that lead now" Sam cut him off

Dean's eyes widened. "Ok.. Ok.. Don't get you're panties in a twist. Where we going again?"

Sam sighed. "Sorry. The Valentine. It's a pub about 5 minute walk from here"

Dean nodded. "Uh huh. Ok then. So what you thinking haunted, spirits demons?"

Sam sat down on the chair next to him pulling his shoes on. "Well the reports would suggest some kind of spirit activity. There's been at least 7 related suicides for about a month now."

Dean frowned. "I don't get it. What do you mean?"

"All the suicides are related because all the people went to the Valentine that night. Off'd themselves hours after leaving the place. Some guy even jumped in-front of a car on his way out. The only thing they have in common, is the band that played on those nights. Fool's Irony"

"Sounds like our kinda gig" Dean said with a grin.


	3. Artistic Differences

"That's it Whitney.. I'm out"

"Jack please!.. Tom.. Come on guys"

Whitney was sprinting, trying to keep up with the guys long strides as they began to haul their equipment into their car.

Jack shook his head. "No, I warned you Whitney. I warned you" Tom awkwardly hung in the distance, he wasn't one for confrontations.

"Please.. I'm sorry—""

"You promised you wouldn't sing that song again"" Jack interrupted her. He had a finger pointed directly at her face that was trembling slightly as he spoke. "You said you would stick to our set. The last 3 Saturdays, every single time instead of Broken Frame, you sing those .....jazz songs" he finished.

"But—"

"And I don't know if you're doing this just to spite me, because you know what Broken Frame is about…" he trailed off, looking uncomfortable. They both turned red in slightly.

Whitney was close to tears. "Jack, please. I've told you, I don't know where that song comes from, I don't even think I've even heard it before honestly. But look at our admissions, there through the roof! We're packing the joint"

Tom suddenly spoke quietly from behind them. "I think that might have something to do with all those deaths.."

Whitney faltered for a moment. She composed herself, and took a deep breath "That has nothing to do with us. That's just a coincidence"

"3 people the first Saturday, 2 people the Saturday after that and one last week?" Tom spat uncharacteristically. Whitney was visibly taken aback, Tom had never gotten angry like that at her before.

"We're done a 3 gigs, and what do we have to show for it? 7 dead people? Did you see what the newspaper was saying about us this morning? That we're cursed" Jack sighed and rubbed his hands over his face.

"You know that we had nothing to do with that. And I also know you're not leaving without me" she threatened. She changed her voice to a softer tone "Please guys, this is what we always wanted! Fame! We've been playing together 3 weeks and we're already in the papers!" She ended with flashing them her trademark smile. She could feel them coming round.

"Plus, we did promise that old man who owns the place that we would do 5 gigs" Tom added. Whitney started shivering slightly. She did not like the old man for some reason, he made her jumpy.

Jack hesitated. He pulled his amp back out of the car. "Ok, lets finish here and move on. 2 more gigs right? But that's it" he warned as Whitney jumped up into his arms. "Thank you thank you thank you!" she cried. She turned around and hugged Tom.

As she watched them begin the arduous task of loading the gear back into the bar, Whitney felt slightly unease. Why was she singing that song? She did not know what came over her, just a feeling that she had to do it. Like someone was singing it for her…..

-----

-----

----

"Is that our girl" Dean nudged Sam and gestured with his shoulder.

A short and pretty girl with long brown hair was standing next to a van in the parking lot, looking lost for thought. She was dressed in array of punk clothes, a small chequered skirt and black t-shirt with a skull on it. Aside from that, she looked like a completely normal early 20's girl who wouldn't completely succumb to the emo movement, but dabbled here and there.

"That's her. Whitney Eldridge" Sam said as they quickened her pace towards her.

"Hi there" Dean said as he approached.

The girl suddenly snapped back to reality. "Oh.. um hi" she said, a little embarrassed to be caught staring into space.

"I'm Dean Starkley, this is Sam McCartney" Dean said. "You must be Whitney, We're from Rolling stone magazine, we just wanted to have a quick word"

Whitney's eyes had widened the second they said Rolling Stone. "Are you serious?" she gasped. Then, her tone dropped to suspicious "Why?"

"Well, we have heard about all the uh.. Controversy… surrounding your performances. I'm not sure you're aware.." Sam started.

"Oh.." her face fell slightly. "Yeah I'm aware. I'm aware its total bull" she scowled

"What do you mean?" Dean pressed

"I'm sorry"" she said, looking slightly pissed off. "If you came here to do an expose on "the band that kills people" you're getting no comment out of me" she turned on her heel and started to walk towards the pub.

"That's not it" Dean said, walking with her.

She stopped "Of course its not. There are a lot of people living in L.A, a lot of sad people, a lot of lonely people. And to think that that song has anything to do…"

"The song? What song" quizzed Sam.

"Never mind. Any of you got a cigarette?" she asked changing the subject.

The boys shook their head. "Isn't that not good for your voice? I mean as a singer you should know that right?" Sam asked

Whitney looked a little taken aback. "I do know that.. I just.. I dunno.. really feel like one" she looked a little surprised at her own words. "I have to go warm up my voice. We're on soon" She huffed.

As soon as she was out of sight the brothers turned to each other.

"What are you thinking?" Dean asked Sam.

His brother stared back at The Valentine thoughtfully. "I don't know. Lets go watch the gig tonight though, see what we can pick up"


	4. Stormy Weather

"Thanks guys. This is um… our last song" Whitney said into the microphone. She was perched high on a barstool gripping the microphone a little nervously. Sam had noticed that had glammed herself up a bit, her eyes were coated with thick black mascara and her lips were ruby red. She had a lit cigarette precariously sitting on an astray next to her. She took a long drag of it before lightly letting the smoke escape her lips. Tom and Jack were exchanging glances as she did this, which led Sam to believe that smoking was out of character for her.

"You got to hand it to her, she's got that charisma on stage" Sam whispered to Dean.

Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam.

"I'm just saying" Sam retorted and turned his attention towards the stage.

There was no doubting it, there was a definite shift in the air. A presence that perhaps, had been lingering on the edge, was now somewhere around the bar. It was dark and cold outside, but it felt the same indoors. The two brothers felt it instinctively and looked at each other with concerned expressions, scanning the entire bar. The audiences, unaware were gazing at the stage.

Once again, Whitney had her glossy lip inches away from the microphone. Yet again, she began to sing

"Don't know why.. there's no sun up in the sky… stormy weather" a voice erupted from her frame. Powerful, yet sad. Her eyes suddenly turned misty, a tear rolled down her cheek.

Behind her, Tom had thrown his drumsticks at the wall in anger while Jack looked on in disbelief.

Sam stopped scanning the bar for any signs of spirits. He stared at Whitney and suddenly he felt weak. His arms fell limply at his side, emotions began to bubble at the surface, wanting to break through. He tried to clasp his eyes shut, but even that was now impossible.

"Keeps raining all of the time" she sang.

Dean had now seen the affect Whitney was having on Sam. And the rest of the bar. In fact, there were even people outside on the street who were frozen to the spot staring straight ahead.

And yet, like Dean, there were a few who weren't affected. A few people looking confused at their companions, waving hands in front of their faces. Tom and Jack were looking miffed, but also pale and shaky as they managed to tear themselves off the stage with great difficulty and stormed out of the bar. The bartender had a curious expression on his face, which could only be described as mild amusement with a hint of curiosity.

"Interesting choice" he muttered under his breath

"I'm sorry what?" asked Dean leaning in towards the Bartender.

The Bartender looked surprised as if he had forgotten Dean was even there. "Nothing.. Just interesting song choice. Stormy Weather. That takes me back" he said throwing his dishcloth over his shoulder.

Dean raised an eyebrow, perplexed. There was something about this bartender…

"Do you rent rooms?" he asked

"Rent rooms?"

"Yeah.. This is a hotel right?"

"Used to be" the bartender sighed. "I don't rent them out anymore"

"So whats up there?" he gestured towards the wooden staircase towards the back of the pub.

The Bartender leaned in close to Dean to retort "Nothing" he said simply as he turned his heel and walked towards the other end of the bar.

Dean turned to Sam who was transfixed with the performance. Dean did not like this.

"What are you thinking?" He asked pushing Sam lightly.

The push startled him. "Wha..? oh. Um. Well, i'm thinking a possesion" he said and Dean nodded in agreement.

"Its progressing fast" Sam noted. "She looks a little different from this morning. Holds herself differently"

Again Dean agreed.

"I''m gonna take a look upstairs" He gestured towards the staircase with his woodchip. "You'll be ok?"

Sam nodded without looking at Dean. "Yeah.. I'll go after Whitney when she's done"

It didn't take Sam long to find her. Whitney had again bolted off the stage as soon as she stopped singing, and Sam had followed her through the kitchen into a back room with a rusty door. He eased it open to see it led into a dirty alleyway behind the bar. She was crouched on the ground, her shoulders shaking slightly.

"Whitney? Are you ok?" Sam asked offering his hand to her shoulder.

"Please.. Just leave me alone" was the muffled reply.

"Whitney I want to help you. Can you tell me what's going on?" He eased his tall frame into a crouch to talk to her face to face.

He was taken aback when she lifted her head suddenly and sharply. "I don't want your help" a voice rasped from within her. In one swift movement, Whitney grabbed Sam by his jacket and threw him into the air.

Sam landed awkwardly on his shoulder by the dumpster. The force and strength of her throw had dislocated his arm, which hung useless and limp by his side. He gasped in pain and looked up through the haze in his eyes at Whitney's figure, which was suddenly standing over him. She stared into his face so intently, Sam's eyes felt like they were burning out of their sockets. Her face suddenly turned into suprise, horror and guilt before she turned and ran down the alley towards the streets leaving Sam, who now had a very clear idea what he had to do....


	5. In the air tonight

Crrrrrreakk… The sound made Dean wince slightly. He was trying to be inconspicuous climbing the stairs in the back room ever so slowly. He knew if the bartender turned and saw him snooping around upstairs the game would be up. He very carefully placed his boot on the next step and shifted his weight onto it slowly and carefully. So far so good.

He had come across a small hallway with 2 doors on each side. No surprise there, Dean had estimated that the hotel only held 4 groups of patrons at any one time by the size of the building.

The first 3 were filled with old boxes, extra alcohol bottle storage. Wine caskets, brooms and other cleaning materials. The other, at the end of the hall housed a bed which was probably where the bartender lived. An old record player sat in the corner with an empty vinyl jacket casually on the floor next to it. One of the windows next to it was smashed and jagged pieces of glass pointed towards the centre. Some items in the room were layered with a fine line of dust which made him sneeze a couple of times before continuing. He wasn't sure exactly what he was going to find, but he definitely could feel something up here he couldn't explain.

He headed towards a window that was still intact at the end of the room. He played with the shutter a moment before he got it open and a burst of light from a streetlamp outside flowed into the room. It was dark outside, but he could just make out a figure in the alley…

He let out a small gasp and his hands sprang up to clench the window frame. It was Sam. Lying on the ground. He was holding a large piece of glass in his left hand. As Sam raised his head into the light, Dean saw that his face was streaked with tears and an upmost despair. As soon as Sam started to pull back his shirt sleeves to reveal his wrist Dean lost it completely. Without comprehending, the window was clumsily pushed open and his 6 foot frame was squeezing out of it. He lost his footing momentarily but managed to grab a drainpipe nearby which he swung down on like a fireman's pole (or a strippers) and let out a cry of protest.

"Sam!" He yelled. Once his feet hit the floor, he grabbed his brother's hands roughly, which Sam responded by screaming loudly.

"Argh Dean! My shoulder. What do you think you're doing?" He asked angrily.

He seemed to be out of whatever trance he had been in. In fact he looked a little confused at the sight of himself holding a jagged piece of glass. "Wait" Sam said. "What the hell happened just now?"

"Why don't you tell me?, you were trying to off yourself" Dean said angrily. He was so angry at his brother he was shaking.

Sam mused on this for a moment before, finally, putting the shard of glass down on the ground. Dean breathed a sigh of relief. Sam saw this and looked at Dean puzzled.

"It must have been Whitney" he said. "I came out here to talk to her, then.." he screwed up his face trying to remember. "She threw me"

Dean looked confused. "Like literally threw you?" he snorted loudly.

"Well yeah, she's possessed" defended Sam. "My shoulder" he winced. He pulled up his t-shirt so Dean could take a look at it. The bone was clearly misplaced, Dean examined it.

"I don't know if I wanna pop it back in, it's not a clean dislocation. We can deal with it later" he pulled Sam's t-shirt back down, a bit too hard and Sam winced. "Lets go find Whitney before she hurts anyone else"

"It won't be hard" Sam said. "Listen"

Her voice carried from through the kitchen out to the alley like a waft of warm air. Sam's knees buckled at the thought.

Dean noticed his brothers face slightly pale at the sound of her music. "I'll go interrogate Whitney. You go upstairs. Scour through the bartenders room, see what you can dig up" he gestured towards the bartender's window. "I'll do all the leg work" he sighed walking grudgingly back into the kitchen.


	6. Beautiful Love

"Southern and coke please" Dean asked the old bartender, who was staring in a trance at Whitney perform. The bartender obliged with a scowl, as though Dean had interrupted the most important moment of his life.

"Beautiful love… will my dreams come true" Whitney was singing into the microphone. As the bartender poured Dean's drink he turned in his stool to face her. She looked different. Her hair… it was bouncy, curly at the ends. Her features were pale and empathised by even more dark makeup around her eyes and blood red lips. Her clothes… she had traded in her punk skirt and top for a sleeky black dress, which made Dean whistle very low to himself at the pleasant sight. This, however, was not a good thing. Dean could stare at those legs forever, but the truth was the spirit that possessed her was beginning to find a home in her body. Becoming her. Changing her.

---

Meanwhile, Sam had finally ascended the creaky staircase and was now faced with a dilemma.

There were at least 50 doors on either side, stretching down a corridor that didn't seem to end. Sam knew basic architectural laws would not allow this to be possible. After all, this was an old pub hotel in LA, not the TARDIS.

He ran his fingers down the dark green wallpaper to steady himself. When he was sure it was a supernatural glamour, conjured up by the ghost, designed to confuse him and not a hallucination from the dull ache in his arm he continued, pushing the doors open slightly and peering in.

He got to perhaps the 10th door before he sighed loudly in protest. The ghost wasn't making this easy. In fact, every room looked the same on the left. Every door on the right looked the same. Except….

There was a faint sound. A scratching… coming from one of the rooms. The 30th or so on the right. He walked quickly in that direction pressing his ear up against the doors on the way. There it was.

He eased open the door. There was something under the floor, under the bed perhaps, he was sure of it. And that sound… he knew it.. It was the scratching of the needle on a record player that had been left on, long after the song had been finished. He examined the record player that sat next to the bed. It was off.

He pulled back the bed with his good arm. There was glass everywhere from under the bed, to around the window near the record player. Their were two windows in the room, one being completely smashed, hence the glass, the other window in the room was ajar, Sam chuckled when he realised this was the one Dean had some how managed to climb through. How he managed to squeeze through that was a mystery to him. He glanced out the window, it was quite a drop to the ground and made his head spin slightly. In the distance he could hear Whitney singing. "..filling my soul.. with your song..." He shook his head as though to clear his mind of the song, the lyrics the haunting melody.

----

----

----

Whitney had completed her set and once again, as if on cue, the entire pub broke down into tears. It seemed like more people this time, then her last performance 2 hours ago, were upset and moved by her performance. Dean however, still remained unaffected. He finished his drink and set upon himself to shadow Whitney, where ever she would go. This time, she didn't bolt of the stage, but calmly exited the room again, via the kitchen door into the alley.

Dean threw the bartender a bank note as he quickly followed her into the alley. The bartender watched suspiciously from behind the bar before throwing down his towel and following him.

"Whitney!" he grabbed her arm as they passed the kitchen, and spun her around.

The makeup that was immaculately placed around her eyes was now a black streaked mess. Black tears were falling down her face. "Please" she begged. "Leave me alone" She pushed him away with such force he almost lost his step. She moved fast through the back door that led to the alley and instantly resumed the crouch position that Sam had first found her in.

Dean approached her cautiously. "Please.. Tell me what you want" he said softly.

He wasn't sure if he was talking to the ghost or to her.

"I want to go home. I don't want to sing anymore" she whispered back. Again, it was awash with ambiguity. There was no way to tell whom Dean was addressing.

"Get away from her" came a voice behind him. Something large and heavy knocked against Dean's skull which dropped him like a stone to the floor. He looked up from the ground, the bartender leered over him with a crowbar and swung it high in the air


	7. Those games we play

Meanwhile, Sam had a crowbar of his own. The door out of the room had mysteriously locked itself, and no matter how hard he tried he could not get it open. There was no doubt it was the spirit, who had glamoured a maze for him now was keeping imprisoned. It did not help that each time he pulled on the crowbar the muscles around his shoulder tightened and pulled against the displaced bone making him writhe in agony. He had already almost lost consciousness a few times, and was wondering how long he could hold on for.

He sat back for a moment to reel in exactly how much physical effort and pain this was going to cost him when something in the corner of the room caught his eye. It was crouched over in the corner, a woman. She reminded Sam of how he had found Whitney earlier, crouched in the alley way.

He cautiously edged away from the figure. There was no doubt this was a spirit. It flickered slightly, before disappearing completely from the room. Sam stood slowly surveying the room, looking to see where she had gone when something fell lightly behind him making him spin around.

It was a record sleeve from the record that was presumably in the player at this very moment. On the black and white front cover donned a beautiful girl in a sleeky black dress, a vibrant smile and a classic microphone. She held a cigarette in two gloved fingers, and gripped the microphone handle with the other. A young man, looking equally as enthusiastic and as snappy in a chequered suit, was sitting on the piano in the picture gazing up at her adoringly.

This image disturbed Sam. It was definitely the ghost he had just seen in the room. the album title read "Sally Fawkes Sings the Blues" in a lucrative blue italic font, and was dated 1955.

"So you're our ghost" whispered Sam.

"I am" snarled a voice behind him

He whirled around, to see a glimpse of the spirit for a split second before she disappeared again. Sam backed up against the wall, breathing heavily, his good arm gingerly touching the revolver concealed under his sweatshirt. But she was gone

His heart beating fast and pumping with adrenaline, Sam took a moment to gather his thoughts. Sally was murdered in this room. Still, though, he thought he had definitely seen something on her. scratches, cuts around her face. Little small nicks, as though...

As he was thinking he was unconsciously pacing the room and had lightly stepped on the broken glass from the broken window near the bed.

"As though.. she were thrown through a window" he finished aloud.


	8. I'm through with love

Dean screamed in agony as he blocked the crowbar the bartender swung with intense force. It cracked against his forearm and sent sharp pain up and down his arm.

"She must finish! She must sing!" the bartender was yelling, his movements now frantic, swinging it back and forth, narrowly missing Deans temple.

"Let her finish!" he was pleading now.

Dean in the meantime had found his feet. He pushed Whitney behind him and held his arms out to protect her. "Back off old man" he threatened the bartender.

"You don't know what you're protecting" the bartender snarled at Dean. "That girl is not what she seems"

"Kinda figured that out already" he said sheepishly rubbing his arm and eyeing the crowbar.

"She is possessed" he growled.

"I am not possessed!" defied Whitney standing a little straighter and moving forward. Dean pushed her back behind him

"Look, I'm way ahead of you grandpa" he said with a small smile

"The ghost wants her body. Its gradually taking over" Dean continued. "We need to stop this we need..."

The bartender laughed. "Stop this? No... Sally needs a body"

"Dean!" A voice yelled.

"Sam?" Dean called

The bartender spun around to see Sam running towards them. Sam halted his step immediately and put his good hand up in the air at the sight of the crowbar, the other was behind his back.

This was all the distraction Dean needed to act. In one quick motion, a quick punch to the kidney caused him to drop to his knees, the crowbar banged to the floor. The old man gave a cry of surprise and looked back up at Dean in defeat.

And all of a sudden the street light began to flicker and went completely out. Everybody stopped and felt the change in the air. Dean did a quick glance back at Whitney whose face was pale and frightened.

The air felt colder, the hairs on the back of their necks stood up still. The spirit was nearby.

"Sally's here for revenge Tony. Is that it?" Sam asked walking towards the feeble old man.

"It is Tony isn't it? This is your picture on her record cover" he pulled out the record from behind his back. "There is a picture of you, her pianist. Am I right? You and her used to play together" He pulled the vinyl out of the cover. "Tony Ferguson. You're name is right here with the track listing"

The bartender let out a soft cry of utter despair. His eyes were darting around the alley, searching for the spirit. Dean grabbed his collar roughly incase maybe he was also casing out an exit.

"You killed her'' Sam said softly. "You threw her off the top floor, through the window. And .." his voice got louder "And you've never let her go. Never let her spirit pass on. You make her sing..."

"--I didn't throw her through the window! she threw herself" sobbed the bartender.

Dean let go of his grip on the collar of the bartenders shirt in suprise. "What?"

"She killed herself!" he wept. "We were.. We were so in love. And then.. I came up to tell her.. I came up to our room to tell her it was over. I was going to leave her, I was unfaithful I had met someone else" his voice wavered as a low static sound started to fill the air.

"She was distraught. I didn't know what she was going to do to herself. But she did, she threw herself out the window. Right in front of me" his eyes went cloudy as if replaying the incident in his head

His eyes snapped quickly back into focus. "Since then, she has never left my side. She sings to me, she sings to me every day and every night. Everywhere I go I hear singing!" his voice escalated. "Every time she sang to me I feel like I wanted to end it, I wanted to kill myself I never did because that's what she wanted me to do!!!"

"Then, Whitney came along a few weeks ago and suddenly she left my side. She stopped singing at me, she sang through Whitney. And with every performance I felt the hold she had on my slacken, and her move away"

Dean felt Whitney shudder behind him. he turned to her, concerned. They all gasped in unison when they suddenly realised they was no longer looking at Whitney.

The woman before him was complete. She was still pale, beautiful, still wearing the same long dress. She still had Whitney's eyes and long hair.. but now she was covered in bloodied scratches. her lips were snarled and her eyes flashed with anger and hatred.

"You..." she rasped, a powerful voice from within shaking Whitney's body.

"I'm sorry Sally. Please. I never wanted this to happen. I never wanted you to die" Tony begged.

Whitney's body jerked forward, her step becoming more and more unnaturally and ragged the closer she got to the bartender. He whimpered and cowered putting his hands over his head.

"I'm through with love.. I'll never fall again" sang Sally her voice clear and steady.

"NO! PLEASE!" screamed the bartender trying to cover his ears.

But the song was reverberating down the alley, the acoustics booming it out. "For I must love you or no one....And so I'm through with love"" The song crawled into their heads, it overwhelmed their senses.

Sam felt his eyes glaze over. His arm holding the record and cover fell loosely to his side and fell to the floor. Suddenly, the weight of the world became unbearable on his shoulders. His legs buckled under the weight, unable to hold himself any longer. Tears formed fast and violently in his eyes and started to stream fast down his face, hot and sticky. The bartenders cries of protest began to weaken, his hand shaking reached towards a shard of glass which appeared next to him. Sam followed, choosing a particularly large piece from the pile and gripping it so tightly the first trickles of blood started to seep into his relaxed palm.

snap

The small sound of a record being snapped into two echoed into Sam's head, and broke the trance. He dropped the blood covered piece of glass and it shattered to the ground. Whitney collapsed and fell to the floor. Sam immediately ran for her, and began to try and rouse her.

The air suddenly had cleared, the street lamp flickered on. Dean hastily threw away the pieces of the record he had moments before grabbed from the ground in a moment of desperation. He composed himself, patted down his shirt and then leaned over the body of Tony Ferguson. Tony hadn't stopped in time. A long gash oozing blood was pouring from a self inflicted neck wound. Dean watched, mesmerised his eyes blank and lifeless.


	9. The sound of loneliness

Dean was quiet and sullen on the drive back. Whitney was curled in the back seat, her knees up near her chin, shaken but otherwise ok. "If you can drop me off here" she said from the back pulling open the door as Dean rolled to a stop

Sam opened his door and stepped into the cool air. "I'll just walk her to the door" he told Dean who didn't respond.

He walked Whitney up the steps as she fumbled for what he thought was going to be her keys, but instead was a bright pink mobile phone.

"Is this your place?" he asked.

"Nah.. Its um Jacks house actually" she said embarrassed. "See, the song we were supposed to sing in our set, the one I never got to? Broken frame? it was kinda about me"

Sam raised his eyebrows

"And well.. I guess I never realised exactly what that song meant to me" she said stronger. "I didn't realise how much I loved that song until i was unable to sing it... you know" she trailed off.

Sam smiled at her. " I get it" he said.

She phoned Jack who Sam could hear, mumbled he would come down to let her in. Sam started to walk back towards the Impala before Whitney ran back and embraced him. "Thank you. Both of you" she whispered.

"Not a problem" Sam replied with a grin.

"And Sam?" she called out as he stepped into the car.

"Watch out for Dean"

-----

-----

"How did you know that breaking the record was going to get rid of the ghost?"

It was well past 4 in the morning. After making sure Whitney was ok and home safe and sound, the boys had taken their time walking back to their hotel and were now raiding the mini bar, feeling restless.

Dean shrugged. "Guess really. I mean, it was a recording of her voice, of her emotions. Her soul" he said staring into his hands. He took another swig of his beer before adding, "Her spirit was holding pretty tight onto that record"

"Tony was also keeping her spirit there. Through guilt. He didn't even realise it" Sam said thoughtfully as Dean passed him a beer. "I'm surprised you could even think that clearly.. I mean that voice" he shuddered. "It just.. tears you up inside"

Dean was oddly quiet for a moment. Sam suddenly had a thought.

"Dean, why don't you think the ghost affected you?" he asked carefully.

Dean refused to look Sam in the eye. "No idea"

Sam raised his eyebrow and looked away. He sipped his beer and idly played with the sticker on the front. A long time passed before Dean spoke again

"I... I've only come close once" Dean suddenly said. Sam stared at his brother for a moment confused before his expression bore disbelief.

"It was.. I dunno. Stupid I guess, now looking back" he was still staring into his hands, not meeting Sam's eye. "I was young. We hadn't spoken in so long. You had just gone off at college having that life I had always dreamed of. I was ... I dunno.. lonely. Loneliness. It screws with your head. Dad and I split up a lot, did our own hunts. Being alone that much, fighting so much evil in the world, didn't think I could handle it on my own"

"I didn't want to handle it on my own" he added after a moment.

Sam couldn't talk during this, he was still in a state of shock.

"I loaded the gun, i sat in the car" he continued his voice breaking slightly. He suddenly sat up straight, his voice got stronger "And I have never had that thought since"

"What stopped you?" asked Sam peering at Dean

Dean smiled slightly and turned to Sam. "Loneliness. I didn't wanna die alone"

The room was silent.


End file.
